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<title>we'll soar above the clouds together by froggieyama</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25840735">we'll soar above the clouds together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggieyama/pseuds/froggieyama'>froggieyama</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Competition, Fluff, Gymnastics, Intimacy, M/M, Olympics, Secret Relationship, Tickling, Trampolines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:29:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25840735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggieyama/pseuds/froggieyama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the japanese handball team never misses a gymnastics performance. maybe it's because of the private romance between one of their team members and the pretty gymnast, or maybe it just interests them. the world may never know</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Olympics Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we'll soar above the clouds together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Japanese handball team never misses a gymnastics performance. Not if Hinata has anything to do with it, anyways.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Once they missed it due to a timetable clash, and he almost lost his mind stressing over it. What if his boyfriend got upset and messed up because he wasn’t there to watch? What if Sakusa got injured and Hinata wasn’t able to escort him to hospital? There were far too many variables that were reliant on him being there. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And so every chance they got, half of the handball team would make the trek from the handball arena to the gymnastics centre to watch Sakusa compete.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It had attracted the attention of the media. It was unusual for a group of Olympians to be so fixated on a specific sport, to go out of their way to follow the journey of another part of the team with such intent. This fixation had been narrowed down over the weeks, from a general understanding of the handball team being interested in the men’s gymnastics, to a list of handballers who might be spotted, and finally to the object of their interest. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sakusa Kiyoomi. 24. Tall, toned, gorgeous. Rumoured to have an extensive skincare routine and the poise of a model. It was no surprise that he had lured in the handball team. One news article had described him as ‘a pivot from which so many find their lives revolving around’, and Hinata believed it. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sakusa was not the most sociable person, nor was he the most exciting person in the room, but there was something about him that made people addicted to his presence. Even though he hated it, he was the centre of every party, every gathering, a name to slip into any significant competition about the Olympics. Maybe he pretended he was blind to it, or maybe he truly was. Regardless, Sakusa meant more to more people than he’d ever admit. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They found themselves sitting right against the railing, squished into seats far too small for professional athletes. There were six of them there, watching. On one end was Bokuto, shovelling down handfuls of some weird snack they were selling outside. Next to him, covered in said snack, was Kageyama, pretending that he wasn’t slowly but surely drowning in the crumbs that had missed Bokuto’s mouth. Hinata could only laugh at the man sitting next to him, but found more interest in the argument taking place between the two other short members of their team. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If I stick my finger in a gun,” Komori repeats, “then the bullet will be stuck. It will hit my finger and won’t go anywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yaku appears to almost jump out of his seat. Ushijima, silently observing, places a hand on the shorter man's arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Listen here you little shit." Yaku hears the scoff and the murmur about his height. "Unless you have some superpower, which you obviously don't, there is no way your finger is strong enough to stop a bullet. Therefore, </span>
  <em>
    <span>kabam</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he accentuates that last word with a vague gesture which can only be assumed to be an explosion, "your finger and probably a chunk of your arm is gone."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's not clear to any of them whether Komori actually believes what he's arguing, but it's good entertainment. And Komori has proved himself to be, at times, amusingly unaware of reality, and so everyone except Yaku has let it go. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Now now," Ushijima finally speaks, "Sakusa-san is about to perform."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All of a sudden, the group fall quiet. Even Bokuto stops crunching loudly on his snacks. Sakusa stepped out onto the floor, carrying himself light as a feather.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a collective understanding of the crowd that Sakusa was the one to watch. He was ranked number one, and everyone was excited to see how he would perform. He pulled the hair tie from his wrist, stark orange against his skin, and pushed his fringe back into a bun. His face appeared stern, concentrated. From where they sat, the handball team could see the determination. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It wasn’t as if any of them besides Hinata had spoken to him, knew more about him than the general public, but that focused gaze, tight lips, steady breathing, they were the same as him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sakusa would never admit it to anyone, not even Hinata, but at that moment, as he got onto the trampoline, he felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>small</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Such a small form in the expanse of the stadium, and yet all eyes were on him. His skin prickled. He felt like he was going to vomit. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>From somewhere in the stadium came a yell, barely heard over the rest of the mindless chatter. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Kiyoomi! Good luck!” His sunshine screamed. It washed over him like a wave, the warmth of the morning on cold skin. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hinata is more than what people think of him to be. Sakusa knows. Knows the lull of quiet in between his rambles, knows it means more than what he says aloud. Knows the press of warm hands, warm lips, gentle against his skin. Knows his cooking, knows his singing, knows how Hinata likes his coffee. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There’s something so intimate about it all, how Sakusa’s boundaries melted under the heat of Hinata’s love. Even more so that only the two of them truly know. His fans in the crowd don’t know. His teammates don’t know. His family, spare Komori, don’t even know they’re dating. He thinks, as he steps out onto the trampoline, feeling the springs beneath his feet, that he likes the privacy his public life has given him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hinata watches Sakusa perform. Watches him </span>
  <em>
    <span>fly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s a perfection to the way he soars. Hinata himself can fly, got the nickname of ‘Crow’ back in high school, but it is nothing compared to the grace of his lover. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Handball is a game of height and speed. Hinata lacks the former, and so do a few other members of the team, but he makes up for it in speed and jumping capacity. He has the factor of surprise, of misdirection. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Yaku had taught him how to spin on his feet, to dodge. Taught him that the squeal of rubber against the floor was nothing to be disappointed about. Instead, it was a reflection of capability. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bokuto taught him the power of his voice. In international matches, the language barrier worked to their advantage. There were words, subtleties of language, that they could use to their advantage. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ushijima taught him the importance of composure, of remaining calm even when the world felt like it was crumbling around them. As he watches Sakusa, he remembers to breathe. In, Sakusa bounces, out, he flips once, twice. The cycle repeats. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A lifetime of training for only a minute or so of performance. And then he’s finished, landing on the dead centre of the trampoline as if he had been standing there the whole time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p><hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Time goes slowly for Sakusa. He steps off the trampoline to the distant roar of the crowd. Waits, heart pounding, breath racing, but mind slow, languid. He looks up to the scoreboard. He needs a 41.80 to win gold, to bring home another medal for his home country. Each second is marked by a thump of his heart in his ears, waiting, waiting. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The crowd sees it before he does. 41.90. They scream, he cries. A tear falls, two, three, streak down his cheeks and coat them pink. A whole life of training for this. He wonders, sometimes, if any of it was worth it. The long nights, the loneliness, the bullying, the full-body ache that has lived in his bones since he was twelve. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But then he catches Hinata’s eyes in the crowd, sees the blinding smile that, even from here, seems warmer than the sun. He doesn’t know how he can see it, but he does. “I love you,” Hinata yells, but he feels as if he’s the only one who hears it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p><hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later, those warm, calloused hands cradle Sakusa’s face, thumb his cheeks, trail down his neck and brush over the medal. Hinata’s team is out partying after a win. Sakusa had told him that he was free to join them, that he was happy to wait, but Hinata had insisted. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You flew, Kiyo,” he murmurs, holding the medal and observing the faint bite mark in it. “I couldn’t stop watching.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sakusa allows himself to smile. “I could say the same about you, Crow.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And then Sakusa tickles Hinata, makes the other boy shriek with laughter and </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibrate</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And he can’t help but laugh too. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>This is where he wants to be. Being on the trampoline, in the gym, has been his life for the past decade or more. He can’t separate it from himself anymore, can’t draw the line between his life as an athlete and his life as everything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><br/>
But this is home, with Hinata. And as Hinata pulls him down onto the couch, giggling and snorting, his mind draws the first line it has in years. Just underneath it, away from the rest of his life, is just a few letters. <em>Shouyou</em>.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading!!!!! </p>
<p>creds to the amazing artist whose links are here:<br/>https://www.instagram.com/_doodledraw/<br/>https://doodledrawsart.tumblr.com/</p>
<p>it's a little short but i didn't want to push it any further. if you want to scream to me about omihina you can on twitter @ froggieyama :D</p>
<p>kudos and comments are greatly appreciated</p></blockquote></div></div>
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